


Fade Modern AU

by Elane_in_the_Shadows



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-17 19:58:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14196600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elane_in_the_Shadows/pseuds/Elane_in_the_Shadows
Summary: Don't we all wish to see how the family life and Farley, Shade and Clara would be like? Don't we want to see them happy without the death, war, and the blood divide? I needed to, so I wrote this.Be careful: Ultimate fluff ensues.EDIT: I've updated and thus changed the order of chapters to include new stories in the right chronological order.





	1. A New Place - Shade POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Disclaimer for the whole work:** I do not know what I’m talking about. I never attended a university, I don’t know at what stages of studies they’d be and I’m even less aware of American programs for young parents at college or of online tuition. Given how this is still influenced by my personal knowledge, it might just as well take place in Germany._

**Shade POV**

**When I wake** , all I see is her face. I blink, too tired even to just move my hands and rub my eyes. It feels like the middle of the night.

Only the small bedside lamp fights the darkness, its reddish sheen gentle to my senses as it reveals Diana’s widely open eyes. She crouches beside the bed, her hand on my shoulder.

“Sorry,” she says, because she woke me up. “Just telling you I’m leaving for work.” She bites her lip, seeming insecure. “And then I’ll be at the uni, so until later … the afternoon.”

“Bye,” I whisper with a yawn.

She smiles faintly. She lingers, undecided whether to stay or go. I don’t want her to go, want to fix her with my eyes although I can barely keep them open. I can only feel her fingers squeezing my shoulder once more, and her lips brushing a kiss on my temple. Then she rises and I wish to stay awake even more and to give her a real goodbye. But I barely notice her whispered “sleep well,” and neither when she turns off the lamp and closes the door, leaving me behind to rest on in this cold and dim early morning.

I don’t remember what I dream afterwards, but when I’m conscious enough, I see Diana’s beautiful face, illuminated by the warm, red light.

* * *

**The second time** I wake today, I’m hit by Diana’s absence. The harshness of aloneness unsettles me, indeed so much I wonder where I am. It takes me a minute to recognize Dee’s flat. Our flat now, since I moved in yesterday. It doesn’t feel that way, like my home. When I stayed the night before, it was at days when we both had the same schedule. On a free day, it meant sleeping late, cuddling in each other’s arms, and a big and long breakfast. If not, we woke together and left together. I thought that were couple things to do. How wrong I was. Only now, alone here for the first time, I learn that Dee made it a welcoming place for me. Without her, I’m a fish out of water.

Between my bags and boxes, most still unpacked, and the few things we’ve already found space for, the _herness_ of the place speaks to me. Her smell and phantom shape left on the bed, the book and water bottle beside it. There’s the rack by the door, with my coat hanging ungainly next to her bi scarf, her summer jacket and the empty space where her coat has been, and a couple of clothes lying here and there. She doesn’t bother to put away all of them, although the closet is just a meter away from them, from the bed, from the desk filled with her papers in progress. Everything is _so close_ to everything, the space made even tighter with the onslaught of my boxes. Separated from the “bedroom” only by an open wall, I can see the kitchen corner and its table from the bed, where some food or drink always lie ready for a quick snack of the single inhabitant. The bathroom, invisibly on the other side of the wall, would be even worse, organized thoroughly utilitarian to see to Dee’s needs.

She left in a rush today, I remember, too fast and quiet for having cleaned much. Yet I find no stains of a breakfast at all and inadvertently, I ball my fists. Did she skip breakfast so she wouldn’t disturb my sleep even more? Or was it a bout of morning sickness that killed her appetite? If so, it’s another thing I failed to notice. I moved in to be there for her now that she’s pregnant, and all I feel is out of place and useless.

I let myself fall down onto the chair at the kitchen table and stare at the bread instead of eating it. I don’t know how we’ll manage. I can’t imagine how a child should grow up in this little den where I can hardly find space for myself. I snort at the silly thought, as I didn’t grow up a mansion either.

_I promised Diana._

Yet I know the difference between wishing and believing and I feel anything but certainty.

* * *

**While Dee’s day** is scheduled with duties, I have the day off. We even talked about this before, making it a reason for when to move in. “You can unpack and clean a bit,” she proposed, and I agreed, thinking nothing about staying “home” alone for the first time. But the cleaning reminds me this is not my home, and unpacking of how much more work and re-shelving the next months – no, _years_ – will bring.

After one bag of clothes, I give up. I grab two lecture books I’ve littered on the floor and snatch my messenger bag to get out.

I hesitate at the door, thinking what a horrible boyfriend am. _I’m running away_ , I realize. But not really, I want to believe. I run to shake loose the looming dread, wishing to get one gasping breath outside of here. I hope.

* * *

**I can’t concentrate** on the books while riding the train taking me to my hometown. My thoughts keep on revolving around that specific personal problem that leaves no entry way for neither Socrates, nor Plato, nor Aristotle. After all, I know it isn’t nice to run to my family, about to tell them about its new member without Dee present. She’s alluded to the matter before, vaguely, but not decidedly. I let it rest in my uncertainly. Probably, she didn’t think about it that much. She doesn’t have many people to tell, unlike me.

She needed some time before she told me about her family, but when she did, her relief in sharing her story was palpable. Almost like she’s glad to have me as a family now.

I’ve felt proud about it, to be honest, as I suspected she trusted her college friend Tristan as much as me. They seem so close, having made me wonder what exactly went on between them. But as I got to know him better, my suspicions dissolved piece by piece. They’re friends, and gods know she needs them, having come here to study as a foreigner. If she told Tristan her personal history, good for her. But I stick to the honour of having been the first she trusted with her family’s fate.

Her mother and younger sister died in a car crash, mere months before her high school graduation. Her father wasn’t even home but off on a military mission at the time.

His return for the funeral and to take care of things didn’t improve the situation, least of all the relationship to his daughter. He stayed with Dee until she left the house, the country, to study abroad and live with her aunt Rosa, her mother’s cousin.

Although Diana relied on family when she came here, it still astounds me she needed to get away from her home, her family, her memories in the first place. I’m going to all them, at least for today, hoping to find my way. My dad’s been a soldier too, until he was gravely injured and forced into an early retirement. He still struggles with his past and his new life, so I can imagine some of Dee’s problems with her father. I don’t press her about contacting her father as it’s not my decision to make. I’m here to support her once she knows how to treat him. But I’d never be able to cut away my family from my life.

I doubt that’s Diana’s wish either. She misses the people she’s lost and she’s grateful for Aunt Rosa. We told her about the baby a few days ago, when we started to prepare my move-in. While Dee just spat out the truth after some hesitation, I hardly know what to say and Rosa hardly knew what to reply. But that awkwardness, the accidental eye contacts, pauses and hand-wringing, bonded us in a weird way.

Rosa’s cool, obviously, from what I’ve seen of her. She travels often due to her work, so Dee fends for herself most of the time, which gives me hope it’ll work out in the future too, when Rosa’s small house will have not only one, but two new inhabitants. So far, Diana’s been hesitant to ask Aunt Rosa to take more rooms for herself – for us – although she does think we’ll need a study room for one of us to work alone without infant disturbances. It'll happen eventually, and this is why I’m moving in after all.  Dee’s livings are easier to adapt for couple with a baby than college dorms or a new flat.

* * *

**The roads of** the Stilts are as wet as in the city, and as I walk the three kilometers to my old house, I pull up my hood against the wind and occasional raindrops. Yet rays of sunshine break through the heavy grey clouds every now and then, giving one false expectations for a nicer weather. A tiny spot of warmth doesn’t drive off the cold, or the winter settling in. Thus when I see the transporter at our house, I don’t hesitate to ring the doorbell to get in.

I rue it immediately. I wasted my time not thinking about what to say. And while I crave just to jump into Mom’s arms, I don’t desire to break Dee’s trust and spill out everything without her. I take a step back like a coward, intending to re-consider my options. But before one presents itself, the door opens, with my brother Tramy on the threshold, a mug in hand.

He smirks. “Hey, where do you come from!” he exclaims and pulls me in. I follow without resistance. My brothers and I have our quarrels, but I’ve missed him too much. The sight of the corridors, crammed with our stuff, the smells of the rooms, the sounds … no, there are _no sounds_ besides our shuffling feet.

I blink. “Is … no one here?”

“I’m here.” He laughs as we reach the kitchen. I roll my eyes and sit down. Tramy chuckles as he refills his mug, obviously with coffee, and raises his eyebrows suggestively when he takes the seat opposite mine. “Maybe you’ve forgotten in your fancy college life,” he says, “but it’s a weekday?”

I give him a shove although I do blush at his correct assumptions. I prompt only more chuckling. “What, it’s true,” Tramy says. “The girls are in school, Mom’s at work and Dad is at physio. Remember?”

I nod, blushing harder. And our oldest brother Bree has moved out, too. Yet I cross my arms obstinately and lean back. “And you?”

He takes a long sip from his mug and rises from his chair. “I should offer you a drink too, huh?”

“Like a good host?” I smirk. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I count as a guest yet.”

He nods along and gets a coke from the fridge, and fills a glass that he shoves to me. I raise it in thanks.

“Finished the job in the neighbourhood early,” Tramy explains. “I thought that’s the perfect chance for a good lunch at home.” He winks. “Don’t tell my boss.”

“You have lunch?” I ask.

“Sorry, too late.” He pats his belly and laughs while I shake my head in jested accusation. The idea of our parents’ homemade food is mouth-watering. I down my coke instead.

“Why don’t know tell me why you’re really here?” Tramy asks, all jokes and amusement gone from his demeanour.

I freeze, startled and at loss for words, but Tramy’s seriousness doesn’t falter. It’s me who skittishly breaks eye contact to stare at my hands, knowing Tramy’s gaze remains on me. “I wanted to get some stuff,” I say with a shrug, lifting my head without looking anywhere. “I, uh, moved out of the dorm.”

“You what?!” he cries out. “Shade, you didn’t fuck up, did you? Didn’t leave college? Or got expelled? Tell me you aren’t ruining your life!”

“No! Tramy, _please_.” He’s rather more bewildered. I realize I’m again in the corner I wanted to avoid. And didn’t I ‘fuck up’, in a way? “Maybe,” I concede, before a cackle overtakes me and destroys any inklings of composure. I laugh so hard I start coughing, swallow it out, and laugh more, until my eyes tear up. So it takes me a moment to notice Tramy’s aghast face, but even that doesn’t help me calm down quicker. The chuckles are still dying slowly as I hide my face with my hands, wiping my face.

“Don’t worry,” I manage to say eventually, “I moved in with my girlfriend.” I lower my hands when Tramy sighs and in this second of false relief, the words slip out, to never be taken back. “She’s pregnant.”

The following set of Tramy’s expressions are images for the gods. Relief switches to shock, into disbelief and then amusement that freezes as it, finally, shifts into the appalled realization that I meant what I said. He stares at me, with compassion and helplessness.

I wonder what I’ve looked like in these last seconds. I’ve no idea.

Tramy doesn’t ask more. He takes my hands, then he’s beside me, hugging my head to his stomach, for I don’t know how long. I relax into is presence. He isn’t Mom or Dad, not my best friend, but he gives me something I need right now.

_Shouldn’t Dee and I give that to one another?_

The thorn of the sudden doubt cramps my heart. But I _do_ want this with Diana. We had it, and we’ll have it again. I won’t let stress, demands, responsibility, money, fucking _life_ , take it from us.

“Have you thought about buying her flowers, Shade?” says Tramy, and pulls me out of my thoughts – as I pull away from him.

“What?”

He smiles. “A bouquet of flowers for congratulation. Roses – or whatever she likes. We have quite a variety at the workshop, especially for occasions … like this.” He shrugs. “Of course, I’ll give you ‘uncle discount’,” he finishes with a wink.

M chair scrapes the floor as I jump up. Suddenly, I can’t deal with teases. “Forget it, you fucking suck,” I snort, throwing up my arms and then grapping my bag to leave.

He runs after me, full of apologies. He clasps my shoulder and I turn, wanting to apology myself, to explain that Diana isn’t into flowers. I can’t. Because Tramy’s more than sorry or concerned, he’s ashamed.

“Sorry,” he says once more in an unsettlingly coarse voice. “I shouldn’t have … I mean, if you don’t … want …” He swallows, and I understand before he has to go on with his struggle for words.

“That’s not it,” I say quickly. “That’s not it,” I repeat, quieter now, and let my head sink.

Tramy gestures to the couch and I follow suit without resistance. Again, I sit down as he crouches in front of me, keeping silent to wait for me.

“We’ve having the baby,” I state. He nods. “And I thought, uh, I don’t know what exactly. To ask Mom and Das about … stuff. Or for stuff.” I look up into Tramy’s eyes. “To be honest, I was uncertain whether to tell you all yet, without Diana. I guess, I came without a plan.” I cackle, and I’m grateful Tramy doesn’t remark the obvious – although his creased brow speaks by itself.

But as I don’t continue, he swallows the words on his tongue, finding something better to ask: “What do you want, then?”

I snort. The decisive question. As if it didn’t chase me everywhere nowadays. “You don’t have to pity me, Tramy. I know what I’m getting into. I hope. I mean, we, Dee and I, we do our best.”

“I didn’t imply the opposite, but that’s not what I’ve asked about,” he retorts, his eyes boring into mine. “Is it what you want? Because you don’t seem … elated.”

“I want Dee, okay?!” I snap. “I love her, and I’m not letting her alone with it.” I gather the energy to dart one fierce glare at him before I fall back onto the couch.

“She asked me the same thing, you know,” I begin. “But what should I have said? I couldn’t tell her what to do, and it was obvious she didn’t want an abortion. I don’t know whether I would’ve wanted that, but …” I shrug. I lean farther back, so I face the ceiling. “After a while, she told me why. She couldn’t imagine doing it. Not in general, but for herself. She’s … lost too many people she loved to give up another.”

Silence. “And do you think that’s unfair?” Tramy asks eventually, trying to tread carefully.

I jerk up anyway. “Unfair? That I support her in what concerns us both?” I shake my head. “It’s unfair it’s happening now. Unfair we couldn’t plan to have a child at our pace. Unfair that our situation is so insecure. Unfair that our child will have to grow up with this insecurity too.”

I’m afraid. So, so afraid. But I also wish to meet this new person that’s both Dee and me and someone entirely their own, and see them grow up. Sometimes, I dare to think about how it’ll be, and not only to wonder about the problems it’ll bring. I imagine their smiles and wobbly tries to stand, their first words and the Spanish I could teach –

“But it’s not unfair that it exists, nor that the woman I love wants to … ah …” Heat creeps up my face. “That she wants a family with me,” I manage to conclude.

Tramy, having listened attentively to my declaration, starts to grin like an idiot. “My little bro’s becoming a dad,” he says. “Congratulations.”

I give him a shove. His smile becomes broader, and I feel my eyes starting to wet. “You could say ‘thanks’,” Tramy reminds me, but instead of doing so, I fall forward and embrace him.

He returns the hug, his hands stroking my back during my sobs. I’m shocked this happens for the second time today, with him, but I’m not complaining. After the doubts plaguing me today, I finally find my ground.

“Don’t tell the others, okay?” I rasp. “As I’ve said, I’m glad to have talked to you, but Dee and I should tell you all together. We’ll visit soon, or something.”

He pulls away to look at me, his silly grin still plastered on his face. “Sure,” he agrees. “But can you tell me before you come? I might get you something.”

I sigh, “Tramy …”

“No, listen. I’ll get your girlfriend a plant, a nice little orange tree from the workshop.” He winks. “Then you can train to look after someone.”

“What? I don’t think – “

“And whenever Diana sees the tree, she can think of the us Barrows, welcoming her into the family.”

I’m too stunned for words. I believe Diana will be too, if Tramy actually does it. But even so, I know he’s absolutely right. It’s a gesture she’ll cherish.

“That’s … cool. I mean, thanks,” I reply, awfully helpless, and wipe my face.

He accepts my gratitude with grace.

* * *

**I forgo my** intention to search through whatever baby utensils we might still have in attic; as the ones who’d know, our parents and Gisa, aren’t here and Tramy has to return to his job. In the end, I guess I didn’t come to find some old blankets I won’t need for months, but for something else. And I believe I’ve found it.

My brother offers to bring me to the train station with his transporter and I agree. When we arrive and I’m about to jump out of the cabin after a half-hug-handshake, Tramy pulls on my sleeve. “Wait a sec,” he asks, and then we both go out to round the transporter form different sides. Tramy rummages through the cargo area until he can produce a tiny bouquet of three red flowers that look like oversized daisies.

“Gerbera,” Tramy informs me.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Well, I still think you should give Diana a little present. It’s a treat from me, of course,” he adds.

“Okay, thanks, but actually, I didn’t go along with your bouquet idea because Dee isn’t into flowers. At all.” He laughs. “What?!” I snap.

He pats my shoulder. “Shade, I won’t go on telling you that all women secretly love flowers because I know you’d only say I’m repeating florist ads, but see it like this:” He takes a breath and spreads his arms wide. “These are something nice and pretty,” he begins, and holds the bouquet toward me. “And before we talked, you didn’t appear to feel nice and pretty at all.” When I frown, he adds, “no offense, I don’t mean your face. But I’m just saying, put these in your flat, look at them, smell them, and think of today. Of anything you enjoy. Let them cheer you up for a second, okay?” He winks and hands me the flowers. Begrudgingly, I take them.

“You make a disturbingly good gardener-florist,” I admit.

He waits.

“And I’m glad of it.”

“You’re welcome,” he answers, and we go on our ways.

* * *

**Back at home** , Dee’s home, I get back to settle myself in, to unpack and re-order, with more vigour than in the morning. I shove down my doubts about whether she’ll like changes in the clutter as they’re necessary. The sinking feeling remains, and it still near panics me to imagine a child and their things fitting in here as well. _A baby_ , I remind myself, as in the end, we can always search for a bigger place in a few years. If we can afford one –

Still, while the weight on my heart has lightened, the prospect of thinking _in years_ pulls me down to earth, every time again. But that isn’t a bad thing. I won’t let it be.

With what I find in the kitchen, I prepare myself a late lunch, one also large enough to serve as dinner for Diana and me, once she comes home. Indeed, her absence tells me how long this day has been. I make the best of being alone, starting with my own papers and homework after eating. The understanding and the words arrive faster now with my new determination, while the sight of my phone poses a temptation to text or call Dee to feel closer to her.

I think I only refrain because while cleaning up, I saw she’s currently attending a lecture; thus I don’t want to disturb her. I get back to writing.

I’ll have to learn her schedule by heart fast. 

* * *

**Darkness falls early** this late in the year. It doesn’t assist me in staying concentrated forever, so I’m yawning for the fifth time and finally shutting down my laptop when the door opens. I sit up immediately and get up when Diana enters. She looks tired and dishevelled.

Instead of greeting her, I take her into my arms and she doesn’t hesitate for a second to lean against me. “I missed you,” I say softly, brushing her hair and loosening its braid even more by doing so.

“Missed you too,” she mumbles, before turning her head to kiss my cheek. I feel goose bumps at her touch, while she’s wearing a thick coat that rustles at our movements.

She’s out of it quickly, tossing it and her bag aside in a motion so natural she must’ve done so hundreds of times. Her fingers play with mine as she leads me to the bed to lay down. I rush to slide my laptop away. She groans as she let herself sink into the bed. “You didn’t have to stop working because I’m home,” she says.

“I did already. I’m just making space.” When she raises her eyebrows, I add, “oh come on, we _are_ still adjusting to living together.”

“We are,” she admits, smiling faintly. “But honestly, I’m too tired to work on it tonight.” She yawns in demonstration, although it makes me worry a bit. Dee’s so energetic most of the time, is it the pregnancy that tires her? And if not directly, shouldn’t she be careful not to exhaust herself either way? But I don’t tell her so. “Surely you’re hungry?” I ask instead.

“Later,” she mumbles, “give me a moment.”

I do. She splays on the bed she’s still used to sleep alone in on most nights, looking peaceful half-dozing and as gorgeous as when she laughs or argues.

I find a space to lounge beside her, stroking her thigh where I can feel the pulse of her blood. Has her pulse changed now that her body nurtures someone else, too?

Dee isn’t a thin woman. At a random meeting, a person would think nothing of the roundness of her belly yet. But I know it’s new, the first sign she’s starting to show. It’s humbling, really, to glimpse our child come into existence.

I rest my head next to the curve of her waist. As she isn’t fully sleeping, I’m not surprised when her hand finds its way to my head and begins to play with my hair.

“Sorry I didn’t reply,” she says eventually.

“Hmm?”

“When you texted. I should’ve replied.”

“No matter.”

“No – ” She gets up a little, and so do I, slightly confused. “I know I implied I had no time to spare, but I did – well.” She blushes and her other hand moves closer to her, brushing her belly. I don’t think she notices. “I made an appointment with an obstetrician next Wednesday. I believe you’re free then?”

She appears genuinely uncertain. I nod to relieve her. I’ll make time if anything gets in the way.

“Good. I thought it’s about time, to find out if the little one’s alright.” She bites her lip and in that moment, her composure shifts. “I’m afraid, you know. Really afraid. I don’t want anything to happen to it. And also …” She hesitates, lowering her head as her hand takes mine and holds tight.

“I just hope it’s healthy. If it wasn’t … if it was sick, I’d have no idea how we’d manage. Our budget’s tight. Probably will get only tighter after the birth. It’ll be so hard, Shade, and if we had to care for a sick child, nothing will – ” she stops, wiping her eyes. I inch closer to her, to embrace and calm her, although I fear the same. And I can’t promise her worries away.

“I’m so afraid, Shade, all the time. It’ll only get worse.”

“I know,” I utter, taking her other hand as well, squeezing and kissing it. I meet her eyes. “I know,” I repeat in a coarse voice. “I’m afraid too. And I’m grateful you speak about it. We can’t pretend everything will be alright, can we?” She blinks wildly as a tear rolls down her cheek. I pull her closer still and she sags against my chest. I don’t let go for a long time, rubbing her back and, finally mumbling some reassuring nonsense. The words aren’t the point. I’m here, with her, and I won’t leave, even though – or because – I might cry myself.

* * *

**“Now I am** hungry,” Dee says with a sniff as we disentangle.

“Good.” I smile at her and start to get up. “I hope you like – “

“Shade?” She hasn’t let go of my hand and her blue eyes staring at me tether me similarly. “Would you like to know …”

“What?”

“You know …” She rolls her eyes.

_“What?”_

She snorts. “When we go to the ob/gyn, would you like to know if it’s a girl or a boy?” her playful expression vanishes as sudden as it came. Likely because my face fell.

“No,” I answer.

“That’s determined.” She lifts an eyebrow.

I sit down in front of her and cup her face with my hands. “Dee, don’t you think that’s one information we really don’t need yet?”

“Well …”

“And if the obstetrician is wrong? That would be worse. Not that the kid won’t know best in their time…”

“Sure,” she agrees, and shifts onto her knees to kiss me on the mouth, her fingers soon on my cheek, my neck, my hair. Not that I can keep my hands off her. I love the feel of her waist, the soft flesh above her hips contrasted by her strong back muscles. “I’m proud of you, Shade Barrow,” she whispers between kisses. “You make me believe we won’t be awful parents.

I laugh against her lips. “Ditto. And if worst comes to worst, I have a great family for help.”


	2. Growing Up - Mare POV

**Mare POV**

**I wake up** with a gasp. I squint at the sunlight, quickly occupied with making sure that I’m _home_ and that I’m _alone_. The relief about this is embarrassing, meaning I’ve believed I really could’ve done something very stupid last night, like going home with my date, or bringing him here. It would’ve been easy, since I’m the only one at home for the next nine days while my parents and Gisa are on vacation in Mexico, my brothers having already moved out. And here I am, staying behind in the void between graduation, college and all that’ll come _after_ , to decide what I’ll do with my life. But instead of finding myself, I hug my pillow at 1 pm, confused over boy issues.

I still feel his warm hands on my waist, his lips on my neck and mouth. He tasted of the fruity cocktails we had. No point to deny it, a look in the mirror assures me he’s left his mark on me. Oh great, as if I don’t look wasted enough. My hair, with its ends recently dyed purple, is a shaggy mess and my make-up’s all-over the place. From the bathroom, I glance over my shoulder, as if Cal would magically appear after all. But no. Despite how it seems, despite the hangover lingering in my stomach, head, and muscles, I did say _no_ to him. The memories are coming back. It came very close to it, because if I’m honest, I _have_ considered spending the night of our fifth date with him, especially during the event. If only he’d never told me about _that_.

* * *

**In the end** , I decide for a run to chase off last night. Funny that I literally try to run away from my problems and decisions to make, but I guess physical activity is better than playing around with my phone. I don’t fool myself with pretending I’d look up colleges or jobs again, because I know I won’t. I mean, I’m sure I want to spend this year with work and travel, even if it’s another kind of procrastination. But I know I’m not ready, and this is the best chance to live on the road and see the world, as I’ve always dreamed of. Then I’ll have enough time and freedom to figure out if I want to study electric engineering ( _“that’ll mean a lot of extra learning, Ms. Barrow, do you have the stamina for that?”_ ), politics ( _“not many career options there”_ ), or something “reasonable” and wholly boring like economics.

I won’t feel bad for choosing freedom when the savings of my family, myself and my scholarship allow me to take a gap year – maybe I’ll even earn some extra money during the time. But that isn’t the reason, that is –

I curse. Just when I’m at the door, I realize I don’t have the key. Great, that’s the reason. I’m not even responsible enough to think of locking and unlocking the flat myself, as I’m still used to someone else being at home. It’s strange to be alone here, although loneliness hasn’t kicked in yet. I have my friends, even Cal, and for now, having the place to myself has been fun. But I gulp at imagining several months without my family. My lovely, chaotic family who always –

The bell rings, just when I’ve grabbed the key. I sigh, rushing to the door. Who I meet isn’t some post guy or neighbour, but my brother Shade, with his baby daughter in his arms. Their sight alone lifts my mood immediately.

“Hi,” he greets me. “Is everyone here?”

I grin. “You got the week wrong. They went on vacation three days ago.” I stand akimbo. “There’s only me.”

“Oh.” He flushes and curses silently. How controlled he is, since although the baby’s only a few months old, he doesn’t curse in front of her. “Well, I’d hug you, but I don’t have a hand free.” He winks at me.

“I’ve missed you too,” I say, a little sarcastically. “Wanna come in?”

“I see you’ve been almost out anyway, and what’s the point if there’s no one else? Let’s have a walk, Clara will like it too,” he says and even baby Clara smiles back at him.

* * *

**He hugs me** once we’re on the corridor and he’s put Clara back in her basket. It’s irksome, but I still have to go on my toes to reach his neck and he laughs at it, which quickly turns into a yawn. While I’m at it, I use the chance to rub his head. “Tired dad, hmm?” I tease.

“You’ve no idea,” he murmurs and sighs, then picks up Clara and walks ahead out of the building. “Could be worse,” he admits. “She only wakes like three times a night, and Diana’s already decided to adapt to her sleeping rhythm. Which means my girls sleep basically all day.”

_His girls._ There’s always this spark in his eyes when he talks about his girlfriend Diana, or now of their daughter, and I can’t not be envious of his easy and beautiful and perfect relationship. “Where’s Diana now?” I ask.

“Ill, down with a summer cold. I thought I give her some time to rest where she won’t fuss over Clara instead of herself, and go visit the family.” He tries to smile but actually, he looks regretful. Like he missed the chance to fuss and worry over a sick Diana. I assume he sees something in that, that Diana, who’s a very austere person at first glance, opens up to him the most. And because she makes the same eyes at Shade as he does at her.

Yet, despite the apparent stress and worries, he looks so happy, on top of it all. He has a cool girlfriend, lives with her in their own flat, has a job, attends college and now has a baby to take care of as well. All of him screams “responsible adult” at me and tells me how I lack, how I fall flat in comparison. I wish I could be like him, so determined, without doubts.

But I also miss the not-so-long-ago days of our childhood and our pranks and parties and fun together with Kilorn. Kilorn had the ideas, Shade planned, and I executed them. Now, I think we’re still the same people deep down, but Shade managed to move on and grow up while I’m stuck.

“Mare?” His face is a question mark, he must’ve talked to me before.

“Oops, I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head to hide the flush. “What did you say?”

He squints at the sunlight as he looks down the road. “Would you like some ice-cream?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Good. Is the shop still on Yew Street around the corner?”

“Yes – “

“Cool, will you hold Clara for a second?”

“Umm, _what_?!” I gasp. “And you didn’t ask what I’d like.”

He winks at me. “Trust me. I think I can still guess your favourites.” And thus, he shoves the basket into my arms and dashes off.

_Trust me_ , huh? I move us to a bench close-by. A slightly bigger thing to trust _me_ with his child. Fortunately, she’s asleep. Please God, let her stay that way. It’s difficult enough to wield the big basket in my short arms, I couldn’t deal with a wailing babe as well. A really cute babe though. So tiny – compared to anyone else at least. Shade said something about her being a big baby once, but looking at her small fingers and features makes me almost forget how terrible I am with children. Almost.

Her eyelids flutter. Damn –

“Already done, Mare!” I hear Shade call, extending his hand with the ice cone.

“Thank you so much!” I exclaim with relief. He’s bought me mango and cherry, truly what I would’ve ordered for myself. Although I’m hungrier than that, with a very empty stomach that two balls of ice cream will hardly fill. Suddenly I’m glad he didn’t notice that. I’d feel bad if he bought me something larger, and idiot me didn’t bring money with me either. Shit. I know he has to be frugal with money, yet I let him invite me. Better I offer him dinner later on, if I manage to prepare something halfway delicious.

* * *

**Shade’s attention is** back on the baby. She has woken up, but instead of crying, she smiles at her father rubbing her belly and grabs for his fingers. It’s lovely. But I also see the rings under his eyes, or how my skin has gotten much darker from time in the sun than his. Shade doesn’t have time to spare with hanging out in the sun, I remember. Maybe this is the first free time outside he’s had in weeks, and he chose to spend it with me. Let’s make it worth it.

I start to talk about my graduation, Kilorn, Gisa, and the stuff our parents were up to lately. He laughs frequently, but glances back at Clara every few seconds, his hand always close to her body.

“Now, what about last night?” he asks out of a sudden, almost jokingly.  Like he’s unaware what a delicate topic this is, not even guessing it when I stare at him with an open mouth because I don’t know how to begin.

“It was fun yesterday,” I say. “I went out, with Cal. We’ve been on dates for a few weeks now, and … and …” Shade nods in understanding, but he has no idea. Not about how good it felt to have this boy smiling at me like I was the most desirable person in the world, how a touch of his chased away all my insecurities – for a moment at least – and lit me up with confidence, only to let these feelings extinguish and crush with his off-hand revelation that then filled me with bitter guilt.

My cheeks heat, my eyes water. No. I don’t want to remember, but –

Suddenly, I’m in Shade’s arms, listening to his sorrys. He even has a hanky ready for me. “ _Shh_ ,” he mutters, “ _shh_ , Clara, everything’s alright –”

I jerk away. “Did you just call me ‘Clara’?!”

He goes red as a cherry. “Umm … did I? Sorry Mare, I must be used to it already, hehe.”

I cackle, or try to, because it hurts with my tearstained face. The drops won’t stop rolling and I hold on to the new hanky Shade produces. He continues to hold my hand while Clara, in her basket, looks up to me from the ground.

“Cal is …” I begin, “I mean, yesterday, he told me about his own plans. He starts college soon, and now he’s found out his half-brother will study at the same one. They’ll have a family dinner soon, a premier for them. That all sounded odd, of course, but I didn’t prod openly. So I wondered whether he and his brother have the same age, and then he looked embarrassed and nodded. ‘It’s a long and complicated story, Mare,’ he said. ‘Nothing to be proud of.’ And I thought, ‘oh saucy details, cool that he trusts me with them’, ignorant fool that I was.” I sniff. “He explained that his mom was his father’s paramour, and when she got pregnant with Cal, his father divorced his first wife. Months later, the ex-wife sent a letter with a photo of _their_ son and called her ex out terribly, but then she wouldn’t let her child meet his father or brother.

“Over the years, the relationship improved little and they got actually very worried about … ‘Maven’, since his mother didn’t seem like the best of people. And _that_ ,” I stress, “was the moment I went from curious to shocked.”

“You mean,” Shade guesses, „Maven as in your ex-boyfriend?”

“Yes,” I hiss. “Exactly him. And Maven even told me about his horrible mother, the father he never sees, and the half-brother he doesn’t know!” I bury my face in my hands and hanky to mute my sobs.

Maven, my first crush and boyfriend, with who I shared our first kiss and first sex. During the last year of middle school and the whole of high school, he meant the world to me. He understood all of me, the doubt and the dreams, the dark days and the light, and I hoped to be the same to him. Yet, in the last months, there grew a distance between us. He became extremely ambitious, almost obsessed about getting into a certain college. He was much less open to me, even when I would’ve needed support to find my way, too, or to decide whether a gap year was the right choice. I _knew_ he had problems with anxiety, more severe than the melancholy lingering in me, but never before did that separate us. I didn’t want to leave him because it was too hard to deal with him, but in the end, three months ago, I decided to make a clean cut before my travels and his studies put also a physical distance between us.

“I felt bad about it, about breaking his heart, immediately. And now, imagining he learns I dated and made out with his estranged half-brother?” My voice goes up with a wail, and Shade pulls me closer again.

“It’s okay, Mare, you’ll see,” he whispers. “Don’t ... feel guilty. You aren’t, well, indebted to care for him.”

“But – “

“Nor do you have to erase him from your life. Maybe offer him another goodbye, like invite to your farewell party?” he proposes.

I snort. “As long as Cal doesn’t show up there too.”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Well, how they reunite and maybe become a family isn’t your problem to solve either. Look, you could also chat with, ah, both of them while you’re away? Perhaps it’ll work out with a little distance.”

I nod, knowing how reasonable his ideas are. And possibly he’s right, and all will work out. But knowledge won’t heal my heart, not Maven’s. Nor will it make an apology to Cal.

“I really like him, you know. Cal, I mean.” I sigh. “Of course, I’m aware it can’t last while I’m abroad. And that was okay, because he started as a mere distraction. But now …” I shrug. “Sometimes, I think it’d be nice if he came with me. Or if we met every now and then, if possible. He has the money for it.”

Shade snorts.

“Yes, you can get annoyed about that,” I admit.

“That’s not what I mean,” he objects.

“Oh?”

“No, I wondered if he’s aware what it’ll mean for you to travel alone.”

I straighten. “Don’t.”

“Mare – “

“No, Shade, I’m not a baby,” I insist. “I want this, and I always did. I might be irresponsible, reckless, and up in the clouds at times, but I’m not a naïve fool. I know what I’m getting into, that it may be dangerous, or that I’ll have to sleep under a bridge for a night, or wear my clothes for a whole week. But that’s the challenge of freedom, and I’m excited for it.” And despite my former tears and the hangover, I smile. “I’ll be on my own, and I’ll miss you, but the prospect fills me with confidence.”

He sighs and embraces me. “Sorry, I totally understand that,” he says. “It may sound a little odd, but Clara felt like a challenge too, before she was born. Diana wanted her so much, but she was insecure too. And we had to encourage each other all the time, assuring us we’d make it.” He sighs deeply.

“I think you’re doing great,” I say.

He smiles weakly. “Thanks. But once she was born? Everything changed. She was laid in my arms, Dee couldn’t stop crying, and I thought, ‘damn, you can’t fuck this up.’ Now we had all the responsibility for this little person, to raise her and make her happy, and it was just … too great.” He swallows and looks down at his child. “Great as in good, but also …” He hesitates.

“I know.” I nod. As in heavy, huge, incomprehensible.

He inclines his head. After a while, he adds, “so, besides all that, I need to keep her safe, and myself and Dee too. I can’t just do what I want, I have to think of her first. I can’t be on my own any longer.

“But that doesn’t mean what you’re doing is irresponsible in any way, Mare. You’ll look after yourself. You may f… make mistakes or not, but you’ll learn a lot anyway, and not before you’ve done it. You have to dare it first, as we had to dare to have Clara.”

I smile. “I knew you’d phrase it better than me.”

“I major in philosophy.” He grins and gives me a shove. “We have new priorities now, and live away from each other, but I’ll always be your brother.”

“My favourite one,” I say and hug him.

 


	3. The Dinner - Shade POV

**Shade POV**

**Our bed has**  turned into a parkour of books. Closed books, open books, old books, new books and soft books filled with Diana’s scrawl. She sits on the bed too, legs outstretched, typing into her laptop.

It’s not her but Clara who reacts first to the sound of the closing door when I come in. Our baby looks up and stares, stopping in her climbing and scrambling over the piles of books.

I greet them as put down my bags, both for college and the supermarket, walk to them and give each a kiss. Neither seems enthusiastic. Dee only smiles as Clara evades my arms.

“You shouldn’t have stopped her from playing,” she says.

“What, is my little girl a cat now?” I pick Clara up, hold her high. Despite her protests, her smile is just as pure and sweet as ever.

Dee turns back to the computer, still chuckling. “You’re late though. I’ve already started my assignment since the online lecture was over.”

“Did you? I thought you scattered the books here so Clara can play with them.”

Dee bites her lip but blushes nonetheless.

“I used the special offer hour in the supermarket, as you’ve reminded me to do,” I explain. I let Clara scramble again. Dee taps on her keyboard pad, no longer typing.

“Maybe we should just stay at home,” she says. “You cook something from whatever you’ve bought, I finish the assignment and the best thing will be to imagine  _him_  futilely waiting for us to arrive.”

I blink at her with all disbelief I can manage. “… Dee?”

She shrugs. “Don’t you have some essay to write as well?”

I crouch closer and stare hard into her eyes, just as she likes to do. “What is it, Dee? Are you nervous? Or even afr – ”

“Aren’t you nervous at all?” she blurts out.

Of course I am. Meeting your girlfriend’s father from the military for the first time is hard enough, but bringing along our child he may or may not know about is an incalculable risk.

“As long as he doesn’t have a gun with him, I should be safe,” I joke.

Dee throws her hands up in the air. “Shade, what the fuck!” But her outburst is fake. She shoves her laptop aside, pulls Clara onto her lap and leans against my chest.

“Language, Diana,” I whisper. “You don’t want her first word to be a curse.”

“I should leave the speaking coaching to you, the philosopher, anyway,” she replies giggling. “You’d know the most wonderful yet accurate insults without your vocabulary ever getting close to the gutter.”

I tug a short curl behind her ear and kiss her neckline. “And you moan such interesting things when you – ”

I clear my throat which stops her musing, her eyes still sparkling with mischief and desire. Now I must be the one blushing. “Hmm, okay. Remind me, does your father know about Clara?”

“Well, I sent him an email and attached a video of Clara and me and he replied with the invitation.”

“Are you sure he watched it?” Annoyance might drip from my words. Her games with her father get us nowhere and now she just shrugs to torment me further. I have an urge to retaliate. “But Dee, I can’t believe you’re serious about staying at home. You, consuming from our precious stocks instead of receiving a premium meal at a restaurant, for free? Sounds fake.”

She sneers and bats my chest, to Clara’s puzzlement. Dee picks her up. “ _Tsk_ ,” she scoffs, stroking Clara’s back, “I’m  _not that_  much of a miser. We have enough money, we merely need to be … frugal.”

You can say a lot of things about Diana Farley, but when we decided to have Clara, when Dee promised us that we’d have it all, our baby, college degrees and careers, she was aware what it would entail. And she doesn’t rue a second of the stressful, work-loaded, and  _frugal_  life Clara bestows on us. Nor do I.

Clara yawns. “Are you tired now, dove?” Dee whispers, then sighs and gets up. “Okay, Mama brings you to bed for now and then we’ll … get ready.” She looks at me with a yielding expression and I smirk.

Seconds later, with Clara placed in her cot, she rushes back to me. “Don’t you dare to dress too chic, Shade Barrow,” she hisses quietly which quite much erases her insistence. “Just jeans and a sports coat, okay?”

I snort. “Do I get to choose your outfit as well?”

She  _hmph_ s, trying to hide the smile on her face.

* * *

**While she dresses**  Clara in as much wool and cold-repellent clothes as possible, Diana reminds me to get Clara’s plush seal. “If she wakes and it’s not there, she’ll be upset for the whole evening.”

“Weird, and I began to suspect it wouldn’t bother you if she ruined the dinner.”

“Shade,  _please_.”

Interesting how well reversed psychology works with her.

* * *

**We have to**  walk the last part to the restaurant and I curse at the snow. Diana may giggle because of that but her efforts to protect Clara from the weather are their own spectacle. Several times she ponders on taking Clara out of the unwieldy basket and to tug her into her jacket. “Let’s get a pram for christmas,” she suggests.

“But we aren’t christians,” I object. “So we don’t celebrate.”

She sneers. “Not true for me.”

“Sorry, Dee.” I take her hand. “Presents surely aren’t a bad thing. And the christmas market here is an astounding sight, it looks truly encha – ”

“Doesn’t it?” Diana beams. “We can go there another time, or even – ”

“Tonight?” I smile at her, cup her cheek in my hand. “Dee, if you really don’t want to go, then we won’t. But is that your wish?”

She sighs deeply, looking down, and her brow touches mine. “I guess I  _am_  afraid,” she whispers. “I’m just prattling from anxiety. I’m not dodging this now.”

* * *

**But she almost**  complains again once we enter the restaurant. It’s crowded with several large and inebriated groups bingeing and celebrating. “This is too loud …” she starts and before she can bail out, I ask the hostess for our table.

Diana’s father is a surprising sight although I don’t know what I expected. Diana told me he’d lost an eye but I thought of a glass prosthesis, not an eye completely turned red. Yet his shape and appearance are immaculate, he’s very clean-shaven and dressed in a black suit. He must be in his early fifties.

He rises as he sees us. He shakes my hand and I mumble my name, probably too quiet to understand. Dee hesitates. She gives me Clara’s basket, stands before her father and finally offers her hand but she visibly avoids to squeeze back. She clears her throat several times, then turns to introductions. “Shade, this is Colonel Willis Farley. This is my boyfriend Shade Barrow, the father of our daughter. Not to forget our guest of honour,” she takes Clara’s basket again and lifts it, “Clara Farley-Barrow.”

“Ah,” Diana’s father – the colonel – says. An emotion flickers on his face but he doesn’t have more words, nor an idea what to do with his hands. I don’t know what to call him either. My father-in-law?

“Shall I take your coats to the rack?” he offers but Dee shakes her head.

“I rather keep my things with me.” She doesn’t meet his gaze, occupied with setting Clara in her basket on the chair next to her and removing some of the baby’s clothes.

“Would you like a child’s seat then?”

She blinks. “Why? She’s asleep.”

Well shit. This starts wonderfully.

I take the seat opposite to Dee and her father sits beside me. The menu claims our attention for a while and the awkwardness dissipates a little for a moment but the waiting for the food is the worse for it. The colonel is always the one to renew the conversation; I have to admire his commitment. “So, how did you meet?” he asks.

I take a sip from my local beer and smile at the memory. “Not quite three years ago, we filed a grievance against the same sh –  … unbearable professor. After we complained about him to each other, we went to a bar.”

“That evening,” Dee adds, “just never found an end.” Then she winks and I almost spit my drink. The insinuation is exaggerated.

Her father coughs. “And how old is Clara?” There’s the smallest pause before he speaks her name, also the name of his dead wife, Dee’s mom.

“Seven months, almost.” Dee lightly caresses Clara’s tiny hand.

“She was born on May 15th,” I add. “During that storm.”

“Just two days after your birthday, Diana?”

She merely shrugs.

When the food arrives, she asks the waiter for raised child’s seat.

“ _Dee_.” I’m about to chide her. Clearly that’s another passive-aggressive jab at her father.

“What? Clara woke up, so she can eat with us.” Instinctively, I turn to look at my baby, and the colonel does the same.

“She looks like you.” He nods to me.

“We hear that a lot,” Dee says, decidedly stabbing her beef steak with the cutlery.

I sigh, once again contemplating the eyes and hair I share with Clara, and the more bronze than pink hue of her skin. I can’t stop imagining what she’ll to grow to be like. That and worrying about her. All the time, it’s almost silly. Instead, I try to focus back on my meal, the regional specialty. It has elaborated edible decorations and I try one of the delicious boiled-down plums first. “Sure she resembles me,” I say, “but I’m certain she’ll grow as tall as her mom. I already told my sister, ‘Mare, Clara will totally outgrow you at 11 years.’”

Dee chuckles.  _Finally_.

Her father does too, maybe realizing Dee’s an inch taller than me as well. “What does your sister do?” he asks.

“Work and travel, taking a gap year before deciding what to study.” Or if to study, as she’s still finding herself.

“I think she’s in Prague now,” Dee says. “She emailed a few days ago.”

“Sure, I think so?”

More awkward silence ensues. The colonel cuts his pork steak with so much concentration he has to be frantically searching for another topic. Clara wails before he makes a choice.

“It’s the diapers,” Diana announces.

“I’ll go – “ I volunteer, already rising.

“That’s nice but the baby change is in the ladies’ restroom.” She sighs and gets up with Clara, holding her close and kissing her forehead. I glance after them, like the colonel.

“… she loves that child,” he muses.

I frown. “ _We both_  love her.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Right,” he agrees, thinking harder.

“Shade –” my name sounds strange from his mouth, like a concept difficult to grasp “– don’t let her down. Neither of them, not ever.”

He chugs his drink as if to dim his solemn tone.

“I promise,” I reply, meeting the gaze of my father-in-law and repeating it when he pats my arm. “I promise.” He nods.

“Sorry Diana is so rude today. She was very unsure about coming at all …”

“No,” he says, “she deserves to be.” 

* * *

**Dee and Clara**  return with better tempers. She places Clara in the child’s seat at the head of the table and feeds her leftover vegetables; her steak devoured long ago. I offer Clara a plum but she sneers in her adorable baby way and Dee laughs out loud.

Clara likes the dessert just as well and I wonder why Dee’s father comes back to serious topics. “How do you fare?”

I gasp and Diana lets him hang in the air, obviously enjoying the moment. “We live off your savings for me, you know. That and Mom’s bequest.” It’s a new jab, as Dee told me they’d quarrelled over money a lot. Dee was 17 when her mother and sister died in a car accident and she decided to move away, but not without her fair share of the inheritance.

But her father nods. “Well, it’s yours.”

She inclines her head. “It is. So, and Shade has a side job and study loan. I worked as well but in spring I just couldn’t anymore.”

“Was something wrong?”

She shrugs. “Difficult to have a baby, study the law,  _and_  work in retail.” She takes a sip. “Shade and I take online lectures when offered or ask his family for help. They’re great.” She smiles at me. “But Clara will have a free place in a day care centre in the new year, so I can look for something again. Maybe tutoring.”

“Sounds impressive.” He turns to me. “What do you major in?”

_Woe me, the eternally dreadful question_. “Philosophy.”

At least he doesn’t voice the  _oh_  showing on his face. But Dee’s amused. “Exactly, my boyfriend majors in being smart.”

“Or rather in being a smart- _ass_ ,” I clarify.

Dee’s father lowers his head and somehow, I’m proud to have made him smile.

* * *

**“Maybe – _maybe_ – we ** can invite him for christmas when we go to your family,” Diana says at home, later that night. "Or to your birthday. May – ”

“Yes, maybe, I understand.” I sit down next to her in the bed and kiss her, but she interrupts it with a yawn. I have to chuckle. “You go to sleep, I read Clara her story.”

“'kay.” She’s much faster asleep than Clara who needs two stories and five minutes of rocking in my arms for the sandman to take her. Suddenly I remember the day Diana told me she wanted to have our unplanned baby. Unplanned but not unwanted. That moment changed my life forever, likely more than Clara’s birth itself. Diana Farley moves through the world like nothing can stop her but that day, she asked for my support and help. For my agreement. I knew I loved her before but her trust in me made me realize that I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

“I love you, dove,” I whisper to our baby. “I’ll never leave you.”

* * *

**_A/N:_** _I hope no one really died from cuteness._ _Or do I? XD_

 


	4. Roman Holiday - Mare POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**A/N:** I wanted to place this in Paris at first, but then I thought I should rather write about a place where I’ve been to – although my memories aren’t that perfect^^° I’m sorry for eventual inaccuracies. _

**Mare POV**

**It’s eleven in** the evening when I can call it a day on christmas eve. I put away my apron and slip into my coat and scarf and step outside of the café and onto the streets of Rome, bright with lights, filled with people, bells sounding over me.

Astounding that I hardly need the coat, despite the time and season. But this is a warm place, making it even more of a magnet for tourists coming to flee the winter or to experience christmas surrounded by supposedly more holiness than at home, wherever it is. I’m not sure whether I should call myself one of them. I’m still a foreigner like them, frequently overwhelmed by Rome’s grandeur and age and visiting its endless sights. But then again, I make my living by serving tourists currently.

Four months into my gap year, I’m spending the winter in Italy, working as a help or assistant in various institutions, first in the cheaper countryside, now in the capital. I was tempted to see the festive spectacle, to be honest, that I’m putting up the higher costs of coming here. Fortunately, my room is affordable enough, but nothing I’d like to stay in for longer than a few days for that price. I knew what I was getting into, I guess, so I’m here to make an experience of it.

Truly, it is one. The ancientness of the city, the marks of history and art everywhere, often pull at my suspension of disbelief until I can take it for real. The more I stay, I’m starting to wonder if I’ll normalize the marvels one moment, no longer able to take it all in as much as it deserves. But I don’t intend to stay that long. I’m here to travel and see the world, and my next stations are waiting. Because for all its greatness, Rome’s also tiring, exhausting me.

There’s a price for a year of travelling, and that is hard, ever-shifting, and often boring work. It isn’t difficult to find jobs when you’re a native English and Spanish speaker in places full of tourists. Interpreters are good to have and I’ve a talent for languages, so my Italian improves by the day. The café I currently work at seems to have mostly foreign customers talking English, but to encounter the barriers of languages, from one foreigner to another, leaves a strange impression. Words get jumbled and guesses have to be made all the time and I try to smile away the stress. I hope that eases the work as well as raise my tips.

Although I’ve understood the processes of applying and have some reserves at hand by now, a consequence of the gap year is a constant worry of having nothing when I wake up next. It can eat at you no matter what, having to rely on yourself alone this much, but then again, it’s also the freedom I’ve craved. Whatever I do, I achieve it by myself. I can be proud of that. Doesn’t that mean I can manage everything?

Yet, it also means that often, I’m terribly alone. To be here, I’ve left behind my home, my friends, and my family. Now I’m meeting strangers every day, of whom each might become a new friend if I gave them the chance. It’s hard, the enduring newness of people and everything else. I can’t open myself up to them all the time, re-introduce myself and every part of me, can’t bring up the energy to translate all of their conversations in my head to take part in them. Thus, I frequently fall into myself and rest alone at the end of a long day full of work.

Tonight is such a time, or could be. It’s still christmas, but the loud and lively shift has destroyed pretty much of my festive mood. This is nothing like my little girl christmases and their inherent childhood magic. This is noise and exhaustion and unfamiliarity. It’s a feeling pulling me off the ground and I’m not willing to give in to it.

The streets around me roar as I scout for a quieter spot where I can sit down. Not easy to find here, as many are already taken, or dirty, or prohibited so traffic isn’t disturbed. But finally, I find a free building block close to the Pantheon. I get down on it and take a deep breath of the night air, letting my body relax as good as possible.

It’s not far from St. Peter where the greatest crowd will celebrate and if I weren’t so tired, I might go there to watch them, to get my own image of it. Shade would be offended to hear about this, as he’s always keen on calling out the catholic church and the pope especially. But I’d welcome his rant if I saw him in person again, like the rest of my family. I miss them so much, and curse once more my decision to stay abroad during christmas. The loneliness is cruel on this day, and the only thing I can do is getting my phone out and looking over their pictures and messages again. I do so every day and send replies back, but I delayed this today, hoped not thinking about them and being unaware about what I’m missing would make my shift more tolerable. That didn’t really work out. I just had a bad day that went to waste while everyone else around me is having fun.

So now I can be lonely while watching my family celebrating christmas. Tramy sells christmas trees and presents the fairy tale-like winter wonderland of the garden center he works at. Bree is with his girlfriend, both grinning and likely slightly inebriated, when Kilorn crashes their photos. Shade, despite his atheist statements, put outfits on his baby daughter Clara that make her look like an elf of Santa Claus and he stands arms in arm with Clara and Diana under a mistletoe that hangs over their door. In another, Diana, seriously studying an important-looking book, wears a silly blinking cap on her head, and in a second photo she hugs Clara besottedly as if in ignorance of a photo being taken.

Mom and Dad are similarly in love with their first grandchild and have tons of pictures with her, of Dad keeping her from crawling into the Christmas tree, or of Bree holding her up to pull on a pinata.

Gisa shines in these photos, too. Even on casual days, her outfits leave me so awed and envious of her style full of details and perfection achieved by her own ideas and efforts. One time, she’s wearing a black dress, a ball dress I almost think, and she looks so gorgeous in it that I don’t know whether to adore her or to be scared of her.

I sniff and swipe tears from my eyes. When I look back to the screen, my contacts are shown. My fingers must’ve slipped and I scroll back to find my family again, as I still have to send greetings and wishes. It’s christmas after all, and since it’s still afternoon over there, it must the perfect time for messages. Maybe even a call. Yes, I should make a call. Yet I stop searching when I see another name on the list.

_Cal._

His profile photo seems to smile at me, and I feel myself smiling back at him automatically. At the boy I dated a few times back in the States. The silly, rich, hot and kind Cal who’d muttered something about christmas in Italy back then. _How decadent_ , I thought. And now I’m actually here. I can’t resist the temptation and text “hey” to him.

“Merry christmas!” he texts back. “My parents wanted to visit the holy night in Rome and now we’re watching from our hotel balcony. Can you believe?” Added is a photo of the crowd on St. Peter.

I can’t help grinning like an utter fool.

“Guess what …” I write to him

* * *

**I drop hints** for him about where to find me, not really expecting him to show up. Why should he, when he’s with his family on christmas eve? And yet, between messaging my family and joking with Kilorn about food, I glance over my appearance in more than one mirror or window to make sure I have nothing in my face.

I’m right at replying to Kilorn’s snarks when I almost bounce into someone. I’m fast enough to get out of reach, but make myself ready to rant back if necessary.

Light falls on his face, and I, silly me, recognize him as Cal, who’s really come to meet with me in the middle of the holy night.

“Merry christmas again, Mare,” he says.

I hesitate. I tuck my hair behind my ears nervously and chew on my lip as I look for words and my composure. But when I see his face, beaming with excitement, I laugh out loud and he laughs along with me. I go to him and in a blink, I stand before him and give him a hug. A friendly one, like I’d hug everyone, yet I don’t let go, and neither does he. I pull him closer, my hands pressing into his back as I step on my toes to kiss his – stubby – cheek and whisper “merry christmas,” into his ear.

He returns the kiss on the cheek.

And then he kisses me on the mouth.

It’s a surprise for both of us, but we don’t stop. Does it mean anything? Or is it just fun? He might be drunk although I’m not, only tired and in need of warmth and a familiar human body close to me.

We pull apart to draw breaths and don’t know what to do afterwards. We grin and laugh again. “We can ... walk a little?” he prompts and I agree and take his hand. With him at my side, I don’t feel so tired and lost. We’re two people enjoying christmas together in a beautiful city, and that changes everything.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” I say.

“Same here,” he replies. “Well, you said something about being in Italy during winter, and when my parents talked about travelling on Christmas, I put in an option or two …” He shrugs.

I elbow him softly. “Stalker,” I jest.

“Hey! It was still a surprise,” he objects and smirks. “And _you_ called me.”

That’s true, but I’m unsure whether to tell him how needy I felt an hour before. It’s good as it is, should I dive deeper? We’re strolling through this ancient quarter, two people who might be in love during a lush night, like millions of other people must’ve done before. It doesn’t make me feel small, but incredibly connected and right where I belong tonight. Cal especially seems to fit in here perfectly. With his handsome face, the contrast of light skin and dark hair illuminated by the moonlight, he could be a mystical apparition rising from the ruins.

Oh god, I can never tell him that. He’d never shut up about it, and the idea is way to pagan for this night. Shade would be proud.

“What?” Cal nudges me and I shake my head a little too long just to win time. He frowns.

“You’re her with your family?” I ask eventually. “Aren’t you a little old for that?”

“I …” _Bingo_. “Ugh, right, that must sound ridiculous to you.” He’s completely flustered and it’s very endearing. “You’re here _on your own_ ,” he continues, “and I came here on a family trip like a big baby.”

I incline my head, the corner of my mouth twitching. He doesn’t offer me a chance to reply though.

“However, it does mean something to me.” His hand squeezes mine, possibly inadvertently, as his voice gains a serious edge. “My parents often went on trips with me, of course. But this is the first my half-brother is with us.”

I stand still.

“Mare?” Cal asks. I don’t react. “Mare, your mouth’s open till the Alps,” he says.

A shiver washes over me and I look up to him. His confused face likely mirrors mine. “Mare, didn’t I tell you about my brother? Who’s lived with his mother?”

I nod gravely.

“You see, as I’ve told you, we met at the same college. And somehow, we got along surprisingly well. I was so glad, you know? I think Maven is, too.”

“That’s great.” I smile faintly.

“Indeed, so after a few months, we decided to go on vacation together, as a family. And Maven loves Rome.”

I can easily imagine him, standing in a museum or on the capitol hill among paintings and statues and looking like a mischievous fallen angel himself. “Oh, absolutely,” I say aloud. Only that that deeply puzzles Cal, because he doesn’t know that I know Maven personally, that we were friends and a couple for years. I’ve only learned by accident that he’s Cal’s half-brother.

Now I have no idea how to tell Cal this so late. Seems like Maven didn’t tell him either. I wonder if he figured out who Cal is meeting tonight.

Cal still isn’t enlightened and I take both of his hands and know I have to confess. I look into his beautiful eyes, golden like fire, like light. “I’ve been friends with Maven for a long time,” I say. _More than friends_. “Until last year.”

If I leave it at this, I’ll never be able to finish. So I go on. “We were together for a while,” I say quietly, and speaking feels like lifting a ton. “As a couple.”

Cal gasps for words. I Iay a finger on his lips. “But that’s over. I’m just glad, really happy, that he is doing well and getting along with you.”

Relief washes over Cal and I’m sure he’ll have to digest this for some time. His hands wriggle in mine, loosen, and wander over my arms to my shoulders. He rubs them and I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t, as he’s still at loss for words.

I stretch to give him a light kiss. He chuckles. “And I thought about asking you to come with me tonight …”

“Oh, how scandalous.” I tease back, hands on my hips.

“Yes, it’d be awkward for several reasons.”

I shake my head. “Not tonight, “I say with a sigh, a promise ringing in my voice.

He catches the note and smiles. His palms remain a caressing, welcome presence on my back, and I take the final step to embrace him. He pulls me even closer, bending down to my ear. “I’d say I’m looking forward for another time, Mare,” he mumbles, turning my name into a tender touch. “But whenever I let go of you and say ‘goodbye for now’, you vanish in a flash, fast as lightning.”

“I – ”

He kisses the top of my head. “I want to meet you again. I want to get to know you – for real.”

His eyes burn with intensity, his arms feel like a home. So under an infinite black sky, bells tolling around us in a city of legends, I whisper a time and place into his ear. “I’ll be there, I promise.” My hand rests on his cheek. “It’s my christmas present to you.”


	5. The Wedding - Diana POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**A/N:** As this happens several years later on, I'll might have to move it further back in case I write more modern AU fics taking place before._

**Diana POV  
**

**There’s a difference**  between dressing up for work and for your own wedding. I didn’t anticipate this, not really. It might play a role that although I’m a lawyer, I don’t focus on an immaculate appearance. Now I sit in front of the mirror and feel utterly underwhelming. My hair curls loosely to my chin, my skin is shiny with glittering rouge. I have mascara on my lashes, have just drawn a sharp black eyeline and still I remain uncertain if this is enough.

If only my dress was – well, a bridal dress. But the one I had was ridiculous. I tried it on in the shop, even brought it home. Yet I only felt glad after I returned it the next day. A long, silky and crème-white dress, even with a small train, just neither fit me nor made me feel comfortable.

_I should’ve went with Shade, damn the silly traditions_. If he’d seen me in the dress and liked it, maybe I wouldn’t have been bothered. Now I damn the silly tradition in another way, having put on an older dress of mine, one I’d worn on some summer days that he should be able to remember. At least it’s white, that has to be enough. The skirt hardly covers my knees and that has to be enough as well.

_Is it?_

I don’t feel ready and that’s almost funny. Diana Farley is too nervous to go to her own wedding, like a shy maiden, and only because of her looks. How disgraceful.

“Mama?” I turn to Clara approaching my chair. I wave her closer and she leans over my thigh, looking up to me and my reflection. I pat her head as much as I dare to. Her hair is curly like mine, but not as carefully styled. She doesn’t have the patience and looks cute anyway. I’ve bought her red dress on Ebay and I was relieved it becomes her so much. It didn’t fit her perfectly, however, so Gisa made improvements to the fit as well as adding little amber stars and flowers to the hem. It’s so beautiful. The embroidery has the same colours as Clara’s eyes and like always, Gisa proves her talent for fashion.

I wonder how shocked she’ll be to see me in a basically casual dress. She’ll needle me why I didn’t ask her advice before, won’t she? I just haven’t thought of it, believing I could organize our wedding all by myself, at least where it concerns me.

Now Clara gazes up to me, enchanted. “Am I a beautiful bride, dove?” I ask her, smiling.

She nods. “You look great, Mama.” Probably my current sight is only unusual to her.

“You do too.” I pull her onto my lap, then cursing inwardly, as it’ll crease my dress. I sigh, deciding not to care as I throw one last glance at the two of us in the mirror. Smiling for our sakes. “As long as Daddy likes us, right?”

She grins. She stayed with me in the last hours few hours but she must’ve seen Shade in his wedding attire as well. Suddenly, her expression become questioning again. She thinks about what to say. “Mama, but what is a wedding?”

_Oh_. “Haven’t you heard before?”

She shrugs. “You always say you have to know for sure …”

I clear my throat. “Yes, you go that right, dove. Perfectly right.” My cheeks flush. “You should ask Daddy about this, he’ll have the most beautiful answer. He made such a beautiful proposal to me as well, you see?”

“But I’m with you now! I want to stay, and I want to know.” She pouts.

Great. “It means Daddy and I make a pledge to each other. To stay together, to love and care for each other.”  _A pledge to god_ , to be accurate. But only I will, not Shade. I wonder how Reverend Fawkes will react to our compromise. I’ll have a church wedding but Shade won’t make a vow to any deity. Doesn’t want to start our marriage with a lie, he insists.

“And you make a party about that?” Clara asks, confused. “Don’t you do these things anyway?”

I laugh out loud. She’s so innocent and outspoken. And right. What’s the difference? “Well, Clara, it means something when you’re in love. Maybe you’ll see that as well one day. A wedding … make things official. That’s really it. Daddy and I will have the same name from now on, Farley-Barrow, the same one you had from birth. The society, the state, the church will record our union and know we’ll promise to stay together and take care of each other.” I take a breath. “It’s actually a legal matter. About the money. We tell the state Daddy and I support each other financially, and it gives us benefits in return.”

Now she’s really startled. “Mama?”

“Really, it was always like this, that’s why marriages were invented. Don’t look so shocked, Clara, a happy and stable couple can talk about dull and complicated things like money.”

And about money in case of a break-up. I wrote our marriage contract, signed it yesterday when we legally married in the town hall. Cold and detached, I considered the case of a future divorce like a lawyer would. Keeping our finances separate would’ve been the easiest thing, my own parents had it that way. That’s why I could inherit Mom’s money, instead of seeing the sum of it passed to my father as if it was his all along.

That’s not possible for Shade and me, as our accounts have been too convoluted from the start. No, our assets would be split by half and any acquired estates would be transferred to our children, and …

I don’t want to think about that again. I want to marry him, from the pit of my heart, and not be reminded of a decline of our love.

Clara touches the hairclip waiting on the vanity. I sniff, take it from her. “Right, I can’t forget that one.” I don’t wear a veil, so I thought I should’ve some other decoration for my hair. The clip is gilded, but its dragonfly brooch is actual gold inlaid with aquamarines and peridots.

“From the twenties,” Gisa told me, and this style fits with my hairstyle and the cut of my dress if you don’t look to closely. It’s another heirloom of my mother’s, just like the butterfly pendant now hanging around my neck and making it a set.

It was my necklace before I gave it to my sister Madeline when I decided I was too cool for jewellery. She wore it frequently, but not on the day she and Mom died.

If she had, I would’ve buried her with it. But she didn’t, and so I forgot about the necklace until I found it among her things, weeks later. I didn’t tell my father about it, already doing nothing but quarrel with him at the time, nor have I worn it or the hairclip until this day. The grief has never left me.

_I miss you_ , I mouth to the mirror. Clara notices I’m hugging her tighter. She’s my family now. And today, Shade Barrow – actually Shade Farley-Barrow since yesterday – will become my husband in the eyes of heaven and the world.

“Clara,” I say ceremoniously, taking another box jewellery box from the vanity. “I have something else to give to you. Your grandfather will be at the wedding, but he sent this for you beforehand.” I have her full attention. I open the box with a click, and she’s in awe.

“It’s from your grandmother, my mother after whom you were named.” Clara slowly extends her hand to touch the heart-shaped garnet pendant on its golden chain. I came to think it cheesy when I was a teenager, but I’d loved it as much as Clara when I was her age. Now, I admire its simple beauty.

“Mama, can I wear it?” she asks. “Can you put it on?”

“Of course, dove. I’m glad you like it.” I thought of this pendant when I ordered her dress, not sure whether my father would really send it. But I forget his reliability frequently.

“Thank you, Mama!” I smile with her, then add some of the glittery rouge to her cheeks, careful not to spoil her dress.

* * *

**Hand in hand** , we go down the stairs. Shade waits at the foot with his brothers; I wonder for how long, given the way I procrastinated. Joy flares in his face when he sees us, soon replaced by surprise. It has to be my simple outfit. He’s attired like a gentleman, with his hair parted on the side and slicked back, and a golden-brown vest and necktie beneath his tuxedo. I can’t help chuckling. Clara lets go of me and rushes into her father’s arms. When I arrive, he hugs me as well.

“How immodest, wait until after the ceremony,” I mock him quietly.

“I couldn’t help the sight of my radiant bride.”

I shove him away, slowly because I’m reluctant myself. “You’re gorgeous as well, dear,” I say. “Let’s go to the garden and get married.”

 

 


End file.
